O May, Thy Morn
by Minmiomaya
Summary: Shelagh thinks about her childhood, her parents and what made her leave Scotland.


**This is set at some point after the 'couldn't be more certain' scene but before their wedding. **

_Patrick had wrapped her in his coat, to keep her warm, to keep her safe. She felt safe. She knew her own mind and now she knew his; without a doubt, they were both certain of the path they wanted to take. It was a path they wanted to embark upon together. He looked deep into her eyes and she shivered, not because she was cold but because of the sensation that went through her whole body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She longed and, for the first time in her life, she was allowed to long for something and not feel the familiar sting on her conscience, or rather, the knife through her heart, as it had eventually become. Her mind wandered._

"Shelagh! Shelagh, my sweet, come here now. Shelagh, don't make me tell you again". The voice was so familiar, even though she hadn't heard it for more than 20 years and she certainly didn't think she could remember it at all. Yet there it was, resounding in her head clearer than any voice she had ever heard.

"Shelagh, what are you doing? Put that back where it was, please".

"But mummy, I want one. Please! I promise I'll be good all week."

"Shelagh, haven't I told you not to make promises you can't keep? Besides, 'want' is such an ugly word. So egoistic. You don't want to grow up to be egoistic now, do you? No man will ever marry you if you are. See, men don't like self-centered young madams. Now put that back, please."

Shelagh smiled at the memory. Her mother had had strong principles and a very clear idea of what the purpose of life was. Would she have been disappointed? There is no point in asking that, she told herself. No point at all.

"Now, you come here and help me count the coins. It wouldn't do to give Mr Simmons the wrong amount, would it?"

She had always been a loving mother, a strict one, but a loving one too. Shelagh had grown up thinking it was a characteristicinherent to mothers. You simply could not be a mother if you weren't a loving person. Her idealistic views were brutally crushed just after the end of the war. She hadn't turned 20 yet but she had, as had most young girls her age, decided to volunteer in parts of the country that had been worse affected than them. Most girls had been sent to neighbouring counties, to Glasgow, Clyde, Edinburgh or to the west coast, where the shipyards had become Hitler's favourite target, leaving nothing but rubble and dust and 20 feet deep craters. The new German V2s had been tried out there and proven most effective.

"_A penny", Patrick's voice was distant and echoed in her childhood memory. She smiled but kept staring into the distance. She felt Patrick's arm being slowly and hesitantly placed around her. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and felt the warmth of his body. She closed her eyes._

Her mother smiled down at her and met her gaze, those deep blue eyes twinkled as Shelagh placed the correct number of coins on the counter. She knew she had inherited those eyes. For years after her mother died her father would stop in the middle of a conversation and just look into her eyes. Whichever mood he had been in before, he would turn wistful and silent and no more would be said between them for the rest of the day. She used to think there was something wrong with her or that she had said something to provoke this sudden change in temper but with the years she came to realise that he simply couldn't bear to see the brightness of her eyes. The first time she noticed the resemblance was in London, after a long day of stitching up wounds and laying bandages in the hospital She had assisted in a particularly distressing amputation that evening and could still hear the child's cries echoing between the walls. She was exhausted in both body and mind when she finally made it to her room. Laying her coat on the bed she stopped in front of the mirror, unable to deal with the task of lifting her hands into the wash basin to wash her hands and face, and she just stared at her own reflection. That was when she noticed how much like her mother's they were. The same shade of blue and the same twinkle. As she stared into the eyes in the mirror she heard the voice.

"Shelagh, what are you doing? Put that back where it was, please".

_Shelagh suddenly shivered, in spite of the warm summer evening, and she moved closer into Patrick's chest. He had both arms around her now and placed a light kiss on the top of her head. She smiled to herself and let the unexpected chill evaporate. She tried to think about her mother again but could not find another memory. Why was that? She had been nearly eight when she died and had plenty of memories of her father, of school, of her friends from that time and before. Why was it she could not produce a memory of her mother from before that day? Her brow furrowed in concentration._

**This might not make much sense now but I promise it's going somewhere. Kind of. :) I hope you like it. Please review and tell me what you think.**


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